The Riddle
by Mamay
Summary: "Life is hard and the world remains convoluted and cursed. Yet you still find reasons to keep on living." The years after the Revolution will take just as much work as winning it. OC
1. Prologue: The River

Prologue

_My father always told me to never deem any situation as a dead end. However, he was wrong. I learned that parents could be wrong in matters that they stressed to us. Strangely, it was more painful than anything to realize that parents were human and susceptible to any misfortune of life as anyone. Life was worse afterwards in details which I dare not delve at the moment. To whoever is reading this, thank you for your kindness. My only regret is hurting the ones who sincerely cared for me. Please do me one last favor and do not come looking for me._


	2. Chapter 1: Connor and Deborah

Chapter 1: Connor and Deborah

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She stood before the indigo waters. They were speckled with orange bursts of sunlight from the sunrise. She could see that the water was meters deep. Even better was that she could see the large waterfall from where she was standing. If anything could do the job, then the waterfall would do it. She removed her boots and she climbed down the bank. She took a step into the water. She felt the water enclose her in a tight embrace and she closed her eyes. Darkness over swept her soon, and she welcomed it.

In what seemed like a moment and eternity within itself, she felt as if her lungs were on fire. It felt as though she was standing outside of herself when her body turned to the side as she coughed violently. Afterwards, someone pulled her over their arm, as their other hand and stroked her back. Their voice sounded muffled, and she continued to draw in more air that didn't seem to be reaching her lungs. The person holding her also moved her hair to the side as they continued to rub her back. The girl forgot to take notice of the stranger who she leaned on as he lost her vision once more.

In what felt like the next minute, she felt as if she was in water again. This time, she was swimming until she saw the shore of a sandy beach. It was now only several meters away, and it seemed to call out to her. She was excited by the prospect of finding some beautiful shells, enough to make a necklace. She didn't notice that she was a child again as she walked through the water towards the shore. As her small feet touched the golden sand, she realized how warm it was between her toes. It was her favorite place in the world. She loved the feel of the sun and the gentle wind that passed her hair. She suddenly noticed another figure.

"Papa," She said, running up to a tall man in a blue suit. The man held her up easily and spun her.

"Ma belle Evelia (My beautiful Evelia)," he said before gently putting her down.

"As-tu prendre mon cadeau?" (Did you get my present)" she asked excitedly. He always bought gifts when he went to do business in the city.

"Oui, c'était le seul qui reste dans le magasin" (Yes, it was the only one left in the store), he said as one of his hands reached in his coat pocket. She looked at the pocket expectantly, thinking of the possible contents that would elevate her day.

"Quelqu'un d'autre l'a voulu, mais je me suis battu pour elle! (Someone else wanted it, but I fought for it! ), he said, his gloved hand still clasping the small present to retain the surprise "Je devais le faire pour ma fille!" (I had to get it for my daughter!). He finally took it out of his pocket and held it in front of him. It was a small metallic frog with a winding key on its back. The girl stared back at its dark eyes that reflected her surprise and excitement. She smiled widely back at her father. She was about to take the toy, but her hand stopped midway. Her smiled disappeared when forgotten memories returned to her and she knew at that moment what she wanted to say.

"Papa, il ya quelque chose que je voulais tu dire" (there's something I've been meaning to tell you), she said sullenly, her small hands holding his instead of taking the frog.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est, ma chère fille?" (What's that, my dear daughter), he said, smiling, his cerulean eyes reflecting the ocean.

"Je voulais dire que j'étais désolé" (I wanted to say that I was sorry), She said, looking up at him. Her eyes stung from the tears that welled up suddenly. Her throat suddenly felt dry. She could see the around her father amalgamating into a coarse sepia, letting her know that this was definitely not real.

"Je suis désolé de poser tant de choses" (I'm sorry for asking for so many things). She could feel the warm tears slip out of her eyes despite her efforts. And her father's hands were starting to dissolve from her.

Before she could react, she saw a shadow on the ground. It started to magnify into a larger one. It had to originate from something. By the time that she looked up, she realized that a wave was towering above from the shore. She knew that she couldn't brace for it soon enough. When it hit her, she couldn't breathe.

Was this it? Was that supposed to be the afterlife? A little less melodramatic than she heard in church.

"Désolé..." She heard herself say. A second afterwards, she felt as if she resurfaced from the water.

She opened her eyes. At that instant, the remnants of the dreams began to fragment in her memory. It seemed so obvious that the previous events were only in the confines of the dream world. However, events always make sense in dreams. It seemed that she was just fresh out of it. She could practically feel the sting in her nose and the burning sensation in her eyes as if she was crying. A throbbing pain was making itself evident in the back of her head and her body felt as if it was not attached to her. She blinked several times before establishing that she was awake.

She realized that she was lying flat on her back in a bed that she did not recognize. It was softer than the one that she was used to, not to mention that the pillow under her head was not worn out like her own. She also realized that she was very naked under the covers. The soft presence on her skin was also the source of her asphyxiation: a fur blanket. In the back of her mind, a voice told her that the situation didn't seem right. However, she was not surprised that she didn't feel anything about it other than curiosity. She was sure by now that she was not passing into the afterlife.

She decided to survey her surroundings. She turned to her side, a task that challenged the range of motion of her body at the moment. She decided to uncover her face just a little to see her surroundings.

"You're awake. Are ya feeling better?" A voice asked her. A woman's voice, confident and steady. She couldn't quite place the accent since her mind seemed to be fogged.

"Like a million pounds," she replied, which sounded toneless and alien to her own ears. She moved the blanket under her chin as she observed the woman who walked towards her. The woman was dressed in what were typically men's clothes: breeches, waistcoat and a long white shirt beneath with a plunging neckline. The woman's raven colored hair was tied up, which brought more attention to her glossy muted blue eyes that contained a soft shade of lavender.

"Where are my clothes?," she younger girl asked, averting her eyes, realizing that she had been gawking at the woman.

"They were wet, so I removed them. I'm sorry about that. You were already getting a fever, so didn't wanna take my chances." she said. The girl leaned back in her pillow, staring at the ceiling. Did she have a fever after nearly drowning in the frigid waters? Yes, that sounded plausible, she thought. The throb on the back of her head seemed to testify it at the moment. Her eyes were still warm- her eyelids seemed to cool them when she blinked.

"There's a set of petticoat and gown," the woman said, walking towards the dresser. She leaned down and opened one of the chestnut colored drawers. When the girl didn't answer, she added, "Sorry it's not much..."

The woman walked to next to the girl's bed and placed the pale blue nightdress on the nightstand.

"I'll take it that you won't need help?," The brunette asked.

"I'll manage," the girl answered, turning her attention back to the woman.

"Right then," The woman said, feeling a bit awkward as she turned to the door. "I'll be back in five," she added before exiting.

After hearing the click of the doorknob, the girl leaned over to pick up the neatly folded clothes from the table. She felt a dizzying sensation that seemed to pull her back into the bed. Maybe she should have stayed in bed. Then again, it was probably wiser to change, since she did not have much of an idea where she was. She might need to escape if necessary.

The gown felt a little big on her, but it wasn't that noticeable. It didn't matter anyway because it was not her biggest concern at the moment. She didn't pay attention to the things like how her limbs felt heavy, nor how the wavy cascades of her copper-blonde hair were knotted in a tight embrace. She needed to leave this place, wherever it was.

Things didn't go to her plan, which did not surprise her. Life was indeed unfair. It wouldn't let her live, nor would it let her die. She threw herself down the river in the early morning in an unsettled area, and even then someone had to find her. However, she was confounded in a way by her own sense of numbness. She tried, but she could not feel the same angry sparks of indignation nor disappointment. Rather, the only thing that she felt was curiosity of her predicament. Who had gotten her out of the river? She had the vaguest memory of a man holding her. She didn't pay attention to the face. Perhaps the woman with whom she was talking would help her find out who it was.

A crackling sound from the fireplace caught her attention. She noticed that one of the logs had split into two pieces after being licked by the hungry fire. She was mesmerized for a second by the orange halo of the fire in the dim room. She turned to the window to see rain pattering outside in a tapping frenzy against the drain pipes.. Was that the storm from the morning? Closing her eyes for a second, she wondered how long she had been sleeping. She wondered where exactly she was and how she would travel back to New York.

A soft knock from the door pulled her out of her reverie. The brunette woman asked the girl if she was hungry. In honesty, the girl had not eaten anything for a while. Perhaps that was the reason attributing to her faintness than the past fever.

The woman took the silence as a 'yes,' and asked the girl to follow her. The kitchen was right across the hall. The girl noted that she was in a mansion instead of a house, and she saw the large wooden door that probably led to the outside of the house. Similar to the house, the kitchen was large too, furnished with a long wooden table with a bench as well a large hearth. A covered saucepan was placed on the metal frame under which a fire was subsided.

"Sit down here," The woman said, referring to the table. "I'll get this ready for us."

The girl obeyed, watching the woman take out the pan with mittens. A warm smell washed over her when the woman removed the lid.

"This sounds silly, but may I ask what time it is?," The girl asked, turning to the woman who was in the process of ladling soup into two bowls.

"It's around 3 o'clock, around the evening. You've been out for a day and a half, practically. I was getting worried, but you're a tough one!" The brunette said, giving the girl her bowl with a spoon in it.

The girl gave her thanks and moved her spoon around the thick yellow soup, which by the looks of it, had carrots, onions and chicken. She waited for the brunette to sit down across from her. When she looked up at the brunette, the woman smiled.

"My name's Deborah, if that's what you were wondering," She said, placing a spoon in her own soup. "But you can call me Dobby."

" Evelia," the girl replied, giving a small smile in return before turning back to her soup.

"That's a pretty name. From Spain?" Dobby asked.

"The name, yes." Evelia said, pushing a carrot into the soup with her spoon to watch it sink.

"Hm," Dobby said, taking a sip before looking thoughtful. Evelia looked at her and she took a spoonful. Indeed, the soup was warm at the perfect temperature with the perfect combination of salt and pepper. She swallowed another spoon.

"I'm guessing that you're Scottish?," Evelia asked. Dobby nodded, grinning and looking a bit more relaxed.

"How'd you know?," She asked. "Most of the blokes here can't even tell apart Irish from Scottish."

"It's the way you say you roll your 'r's- or rather, the way you don't," Evelia said, giving a quick, polite smile before it faltered a little as she looked back at her soup.

"Not bad," Dobby said. "And I'm guessing you're not from Spain, judging by your slight accent. France?"

"Oui." She said. "I was born there, but I spent my childhood live in Quebec."

"I see. Prolly way different from here" Dobby said, taking a piece of a roll. Evelia nodded, having nothing to say on the matter. Dobby didn't pry, although she looked as if she wanted to ask more.

They ate in silence. It wasn't as awkward as the first time they met, but Evelia could tell that she had to share more information about herself. She was inclined to talk about her predicament since Dobby was being a good Samaritan by taking care of a strange girl who happened to nearly drown. It wasn't that Evelia couldn't communicate her ideas, nor was it that she did not feel the strangeness of being so reserved in front of a hospitable person. It wasn't even a matter of trust, since Dobby didn't seem the type of person that gave a lecherous air. She could not detect any malice in her blue eyes. The reason was that she wanted to be detached from such a person. If she held onto any feelings of comfort from someone, she knew that it would not be pleasant in the end. And it would only get in the way of her purpose.

After all, she still had to find a way out and leave. She had to finish what she started. But there was one more thing that she needed to know.

"Dobby, this is also a strange question, but who was it that took me out of the river?" Evelia's green eyes met Dobby's blue ones before Dobby's eyes grew wide as if she remembered something obvious.

"Oh, right! I can't believe I forgot to tell you. Such a scatterbrain! It was Connor who found you. He asked me to take care of you. You haven't seen him yet because he's gone out yesterday. He should be back by tomorrow though." Dobby said.

That makes sense, Evelia thought. So then Dobby was Connor's wife?

"Are you and Connor..." Evelia asked. Dobby took the hint and shook her head.

"No, no...we're just friends." Dobby said. "I was visiting Connor yesterday from New York. You were already brought in by the time that I reached Davenport."

"I see," Evelia said. She should leave now before this Connor would show up. Or she should be polite and give him her thanks before taking her leave. But that would mean that she would have to stay until tomorrow morning. Dobby was already taking the trouble to accommodate her, and she didn't want to give any farther trouble. Dobby wouldn't even let the girl take her own plate to the wash basin. She treated her like a guest instead of some unexpected burden.

"Dobby, thank you for everything," Evelia said, getting up from her spot. "You've already done so much to help me. I think that it's better if I leave now. I should get going."

Dobby looked surprised at first and then she shook her head.

"There's a storm outside and the roads are terrible. Even if you'll make it, you'll get attacked by animals or worse- poachers in the frontier. And besides, you still need to rest." She said, crossing her arms.

"I'm sorry, Dobby, but I think that I've caused you enough trouble," Evelia retorted. "And I-"

"Evelia, it's not trouble. Just stay until tomorrow. It'll be safer then." Dobby interrupted, her face being stern.

Evelia had no choice but to agree. Not because she didn't want to face any danger. Rather, it would catch too much attention if anything should happen to her. And since Dobby took care of her, it would be selfish to let all her efforts get wasted. So tomorrow, it would be.

The rest of the day passed agonizingly slow. Evelia just bided her time by helping Dobby do the chores in the house that by the looks of it, had been deferred for a while. She could only clean the multiple fireplaces in the manor before it became too dark to notice any dust around the rooms. She had to wonder why the owner of the manor didn't maintain properly. Perhaps because he wasn't around as much as she thought. Then why wouldn't he hire servants? Dobby must've been a very good friend to keep the place in check while he was gone. Perhaps they were something more, and they did not want the attention. She didn't ask Dobby about it, since Dobby hadn't pestered about her actions. The less she knew about these people, the better.

When it was nighttime, Dobby told Evelia to take the downstairs bedroom again, taking the upstairs one for herself. Although she was worn out by the time that she went to bed, she found begrudgingly that she could not sleep. She changed sides, counted sheep and told her mind to stop thinking about anything other than sleep. Alas, it wouldn't work, for her mind kept on thinking about what to do, although she'd rehearsed it in her head several times: she would get up early in the morning and make her way to the frontier. She would go back to her house, or more like room and figure out what to do from there. The landlord's wife would still need help in the bakery, although she wouldn't notice Evelia missing for now since Evelia had a week break, and they were gone as well to visit relatives in New York. Perhaps she would reach Boston at nightfall tomorrow and she could continue working there. No, she shouldn't. She had made a decision, and she had to stick with it. There would be no room for doubts.

Evelia even tried taming her hair with the wooden comb that Dobby had lent her, but it wouldn't take out the tangles in her hair, no matter how she pulled at them. Giving up, Evelia placed the comb on the dresser. She looked at her image in the looking glass: her hair unsurprisingly resembled a pile of abandoned straw on a cart, her lips were chapped and dark circles were even more present. She might as well have looked like a monster from one of the horror tales mothers told their children so they'd stay out of the dark. She gave up and went back to bed.

She must've had a dreamless night, since when she opened her eyes again, time seemed to have passed. The sky from the window was a dark shade of blue, reflective of dusk. She could see the hint of a clearer sky, since a red red-yellow orb was rising, its horizontal string just beginning to tear the deep blue firmament. It was time for her to leave.

Evelia made up the large bed, placing the pillow neatly on it as an afterthought. She decided to wash up before going. And after washing her face, she suddenly had the desire to remove the tangles from her hair. Knowing her hair, the only way to relieve them of the knots was to pass a wet comb through them. The wash bin was not very large in the washroom, so she decided to use one of the kitchen basins. She felt silly, sitting on a stout wooden stool, leaning down to move the unruly curtain of hair in front of her face. She met plenty of obstruction as she ran the comb from the top of the hair to the tips that nearly touched the bricked floor. When she was met with opposition with the next strand, she became frustrated. She decided to forgo the process in favor of washing her hair and then combing it. She didn't hear the front door of the manor opening as she poured water over her hair over the basin. She continued the process until she was satisfied of running her fingers through them. It was then she reached for a towel when she realized that she didn't bring one with her. Why was she spending her time doing this? She was wasting time, one thing that she was actually good at. When she turned her head, she realized that someone was walking towards her. A small rectangular towel was in her line of vision. She would've thought it was Dobby if it wasn't for the larger, gloved hand offering the towel before her. She quickly looked up to see a tall, broad man dressed in a white and blue robe equipped with a tomahawk and pistol, as well as a bow strapped across his chest. His hair was very short, as if growing back after being cut. He had an impassive, yet curious expression as she stared at him. She nearly knocked over the water basin in surprise, but she'd seen far intimidating sights.

"Thank you," she said as she took the towel.

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A/N: Hey guys! Just dropping by to give a quick word on some stuff. I'm pretty sure that the plot sounds pretty weird, but hopefully it'll make sense in the next chapter. However, I encourage reviews to let me know how this is going.

Also, hopefully you guys don't forget who Deborah "Dobby" Carter is in the game. She's one of the assassin recruits in the side missions. Hopefully this is not a spoiler…hehe…

Anyway, please leave a review if you can! Thanks!

~Mamay


	3. Chapter 2: The Books

**A/N**: 'Ello. Well, I wrote out this long chapter, but then I decided to split it into two chapters instead. I bumped the rating up to M, due to language and mention of rape. This will be part 1, and part 2 just needs to be edited, so hopefully it'll be up soon. I wanted to thank those who favorited and followed this story. Also, if there are French speaking readers out there, please correct my use of the French language wherever you deem it necessary. I haven't taken practiced it in years, so it'll be great if you guys can point out my mistakes. I know that it sucks to have your language butchered by a non-speaker, so I won't take any offense for corrections. Anywaaaay, thank you again for reading! Please leave a review if possible. I apologize in advance for my blunders.

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Chapter 2, part 1: The Books

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"It is not a problem. How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better than before. Thanks to you and Dobby," She said, getting up from the wooden stool. "You're Connor, I take it?"

"Yes. May I ask your name?" She heard him say.

"Evelia," she responded, draping the towel over her head and rubbed her hair. She felt him watching her actions, and she blatantly continued her activity. She had to leave before he asked anymore questions, and it was no concern of hers if he construed her as rude. She stole a glance at Connor while her head was covered under the towel. He was leaning on one of the shelves, his arms crossed across his chest. He was probably wondering what was polite to ask her. Her green eye peeked at his hazel ones. She had already derived that Connor had native descent, and he was proud of it by the decorations in his room. He also exhibited it by wearing his armband with the eagle feather as well as his bow and quiver. The way he spoke English was very calculated and formal, so it was probable that it was his second language. She wished that she could ask him which tribe he was from, what his real name was and find out more since there were plenty of curious things about him. But alas…she had a plan, and she had to follow through with it.

She turned away when he caught her staring at him.

"May I also ask what happened," he asked. She could feel his eyes on her, inspecting her.

"I fell in." She replied evenly, she said, wiping the end of her hair with the towel. He didn't answer. It was most likely that he was already aware of her intentions. After all, it was a matter of putting two and two together since she had no belongings with her, not to mention she was in the river at such an early time that morning. She wasn't answering his questions either, so either it was a matter of privacy, or she was hiding something. Dobby was polite enough to not ask her, but this man didn't seem to follow the customs. He looked as if was going to say something, but Evelia interrupted him.

"Well, thank you for everything that you did for me," Evelia said, removing the towel after the last dabs, bringing her wet hair against her back. "But I must be leaving." She put the towel on the table, and she was about to move through the kitchen exit when he spoke up.

"Where will you be going?" She heard him ask from behind her, unmoved from his spot. This meant that she did have to explain. Well, she wouldn't.

She didn't quite look back at him when she answered, "Forgive me for being impolite, but that is none of your business."

Evelia quietly opened the main door of the mansion and more sunlight greeted her outside. It wasn't the warm kind. Rather, the one that existed just to show that it was going to be sunny day at this stage in the morning. Her head felt light, especially when she turned her head to scan which way she would go towards. The large grass was still fresh with dew, which soaked the hem of her dress. She had walked past the well when she realized that Connor was following her. She took a left from the well and walked while ignoring Connor. When she

"Stop following me," She said, feeling irritated.

"Not until you tell me what you intend to do." Connor stated, walking closer. She narrowed her eyes in indignation. Why wouldn't he just leave her be? Why did she have to be stupid and waste time? She regarded the horizon with a new thought. She was in an area close to the ocean. The cliffs were high and jagged rocks at their base met the ocean. If this man wanted to play that way, then she would give him a fight. She suddenly began to walk towards the ledge.

Connor, having realized this said, "Wait. Please stop." Connor said, his voice rising, contradicting to his words.

"You have no right," She said, facing him. "Another step, and I swear that I'll jump off right here." Her face was devoid of any diffidence or doubt: she was serious. Connor narrowed his eyes at the prospect and frowned. Achilles used to stand there too, watching the sunrise or the constant commotion of the Aquila from that distance. Never once Connor had considered the cliff a threat. He needed to change his tactics if he was going to bring her away from the ledge.

"You intended to take your life earlier, that much I do know." Connor said. "Why?"

When she didn't answer, he continued, "You owe me an explanation, at the least." He said. He could see that her small fists were clenched. She suddenly looked livid.

"And why is that?" She asked, walking towards him. Why did he care so much? He didn't even know her. And that thought agitated her. Why was it that she was driven to the lowest point in her life and she had to meet someone who tried to convince her otherwise? Why was another doubt planted into her? Why couldn't things go the way she wanted for once? In the end, she was the one who was always tormented.

Connor was silently relieved that she was no longer close to the edge. He decided to continue to get her attention away.

"I saved your life," he said, walking closer until his full height loomed over hers, a tactic that was successful in intimidating others. However, it didn't work on her, seeing as though she never flinched. She had nothing to lose. She didn't say anything at first and she stepped closer to Connor, looking straight up at him and replied with an unusually calm tone that was struggling to hide her anger: "I never asked you to. And if you deem yourself charitable on your part, let me tell you: It was not needed. I owe you nothing. So leave me be." They stayed that way without saying a word and then Connor backed off.

"All you men are the same. You think that just because you're kind to a woman, you think they owe you something." She said. Connor didn't respond to that, and she didn't bother to look at his reaction. Perhaps now he would leave her alone. However, before she could continue to take more steps away, he grabbed her arm and tugged her towards him. Connor suddenly had a dreaded feeling that he went too far when her form collided against his chest in a rough manner. Evelia became deathly still against him. He backed up and at a loss for words. He just wanted her to stay away from the cliff. It was obvious that something was not right. He could see how her brows narrowed, her gaze frozen at his chest. Her breathing became unsteady and she slowly backed up, still in thought.

"Forgive me." He said, reaching out. Are you all right?" As he was about to touch her arm, she suddenly pushed it away. Her eyes were glazed and a perturbed expression seemed permanent on her face, as if she was seeing something other than Connor.

"Evelia," He said. She pushed him again, but he didn't falter him as much this time since he was more aware. She shoved him, her copper ringlets moving wildly with her movements, and he took a few steps back. Again, her hands rammed against his chest, and he took it. She continued her exertions desperately again, until her knees seem to give out and she rested on the ground in front of him. Her hair still covered her face, and her body looked considerably smaller, shuddering.

He leaned down, with one knee on the ground to help her up. Suddenly, she grabbed his forearm, her right hand being dangerously close to his hidden blade while her left hand grasped his armband to dear life. Her hands were quivering against his arms, and although he couldn't see her face, he could assume what was happening. She was breathing too rapidly again. He maneuvered his left hand so that it touched her face and brought it up for him to see. Sure enough, her mouth was agape, and her breaths were shallow. The air was not held in her lungs long enough to be used. If this kept up, she would pass out like last time.

"Evelia, listen to me," he said, regaining his composure gathered from years worth of training. "It is all right. You just need to breathe slowly." It didn't work, seeing as her grip was becoming tighter and her eyes were starting to line with tears. In less than a second, he felt his armband snap off. He ignored it for the time being.

He pried her hand off his left arm and placed it on his chest. "Copy me," he said, inhaling deeply and slowly and then exhaling in the same manner. He hoped that his pattern would incite her body to follow it. After a minute or two, her shaking subsided. His hand slowly moved away from the one that clutched to his chest. She slowly moved it towards the ground, balancing herself. She felt Connor's gaze at her and she looked up for a second before looking back at the grass.

She stayed there even when Connor left. She was sitting up and looking at the starting activity on the Aquila. The sailors had gotten out of their cottage-like abodes to repair the damages that were apparent on the ship. She heard Connor's moccasins approaching her and her eyes followed him as he bent down to hand her his waterskin. She looked at him blankly before taking the pouch. She drank the water without putting her lips around the opening. She poured the cool liquid in her hand before splashing it on her face. She did it once more before moving her head in question at the man who was looking at her thoughtfully.

"Never seen a girl before?," She asked. Connor gave a wry smile and shook his head in a 'no.'

* * *

"Hello, Dobby," Connor said walking in the manor, followed by Evelia.

"Connor. You were back this morning, I take it."

"Yes," he replied. "It was not a long mission, but the Aquila definitely bore the brunt of the work."

"She's a good ship. She'll be all right, I'm sure." Dobby said. "Evelia, let's have some breakfast, shall we?" Evelia looked up as a hesitant child in a stranger's home, nodded, smiling reservedly.

"And Connor, have you even washed up? You always return just like this. It'd be so much better if you change your clothes." Dobby scolded, frowning as she looked up and down at his slovenly appearance.

Connor rolled his eyes."Yes, mom. "I will join you soon," he said as he ventured into his room, closing the door behind him.

Evelia felt Dobby's hand touch hers, and she led her to the kitchen.

"Are you all right?," Dobby said. "If Connor said something stupid, then I'll teach that man a lesson."

"No, he didn't do that," she said, perhaps a bit too quietly since Dobby gave her a dubious look. "I swear," she said. Evelia knew that her swollen eyes would catch Dobby's attention.

"I'm glad." Dobby said. "If you ever need to tell me something, don't hesitate."

"Thank you," Evelia said and meaning it. She hadn't felt that way in a while.

Evelia just had one boiled egg and tea, not eating anything more to the dismay of Dobby. Connor had joined them and sat next to Dobby on the bench, which led Evelia to just concentrate on drinking her tea instead of looking at Connor. Dobby had to return to New York for business that only Connor understood and Evelia never asked to expand. Besides, the last thing on Evelia's mind was what everyone else would be doing. She had decided to go back to Boston to her apartment. Upon hearing that, Dobby and Connor had decided to drop her off straight on the port since it would be on the way to New York. Evelia learned that the Aquila was the ship in the docks near the Homestead. Dobby had told her that Connor was the captain, although Connor had refused to show any pride on having the title, since the ship technically belonged to the man who was the first mate. She hadn't paid too much attention to the rest of the conversations that tried to include her. After all, she wasn't a visiting friend like Dobby. She was just some random woman who showed up one day.

* * *

She watched the Aquila's supplies being transferred by the sailors as she sat on a stone curb. She was far enough for them to not notice her in their work, yet close enough to hear them. Their language was colorful to say the least, but watching them work on the ocean was a change of environment from the bakery where she worked in Boston. Sailors did come from time to time, but since the bakery wasn't near the port, there weren't enough of them to make conclusive, first-hand opinions. The more 'respectable' people didn't seem to favor them, commenting on their brutish ways and blatant promiscuous behavior with tarts. Or port floozies. Whatever people call them. But Evelia sympathized with them, since she wondered if they had a choice. Evelia was lucky enough to find work with kind people, but not everyone had the same opportunity.

She had been in Boston since she was 13 years old. She had lost her father at that age, and she had come to live with her mother's friends. After two years, they decided to move back to France, but she decided to stay in the colonies. She started working in an Italian bakery since she was 15. The owner, Mr. Figore, had hired her, although probably out of pity since she looked desperate for work. She was lucky that she was hired, since other lone women took to either brothels or convents. The owner's wife, Gina, immediately liked her, and she put her to work right away. Since Evelia could not bake consistently well, she took to the front of the store. She wondered if it was possible to return to her old life. Would it be possible to do that after...? No, it never would be the same.

It looked like she had no choice but to go back. Connor had made sure of that. He probably felt sorry for her. Normally, the thought of him pitying her would have disconcerted her. She would have shooed the memory from her head quickly, and cowering in the recesses in her mind while hoping that the memory wouldn't be back. This time, the memory of her actions in the morning was fresh in her head, and the seemed to dissect it without cringing or feeling the heat of embarrassment. She told herself that she didn't care what Connor thought about her. He didn't even know her.  
-

"Shite!"

As she watched one of the sailors accidentally drop a wooden crate of limes, she was reminded of the day that she tried forgetting for the past month. She'd dropped a crate that had the flour for the bakery. She's remembered the evening sunlight streaming through the windows, allowing the white specks of flour floating aimlessly. . The white powder had fallen everywhere. It was already a tiring day because so many customers had come in, especially sailors who were stopping by. It was good for business but her being the sole person in the front had worn her out. She hadn't realized how good it felt when she bent her knees to sweep up the remnants of the white powder. Although Gina, the wife, would not mind her mistake, she felt that it was another mark against her incompetency. After all, she had left earlier to see the family physician because she was pregnant. And Evelia was left to close the shop and move items around.

Well, she thought after throwing the last of the flour in the dustbin, some people said that if something fell, it prevented something worse from happening. She had tried to replace her self-deprecating thoughts with positive light, to the suggestion of her friend.

She could have just walked upstairs to her flat, since it was right on top of the bakery. Instead, she chose to get these books that she had been waiting for at the library. Mr. Figore liked books, and he often let Evelia use his membership paper to let her get books. He was surprise that she was literate, so he trusted her with the books. The library was on the other side of the town square. At that time, she thought that she was lucky that she was able to obtain two of the books that she'd been waiting for: _Antigone_ and _The Prince_. She was aware of the dangers outside, but she hadn't let them get in the way before.

The rest of her memory seemed to be in fragments.

Those men were standing outside near the lamp post. She felt scared at the instant that she noticed them. She decided to go the other way from the alley. She felt dread wash over her as she heard footsteps behind her. She turned back to see them. There were two of them. One had his hands in his pockets and the other was grinning. She continued to walk faster but her pace was abruptly by an overweight body in front of her. The man stood above her, leaning against the wall. The other two men stood behind her. She was trapped. Her eyes grew wide.

"She's the one, boss? The one from yesterday?" One of the men from the back said.

"Yeah, the tease from yesterday. Tell me, where's your boyfriend now?" He said. She stood paralyzed in fear. One of them men touched her shoulder. She flinched from the contact, averting from it.

"What've you got there," he said, tearing her satchel from her fingers. She heard the fear in her own voice when she whimpered as the other man ripped her shawl from her shoulders. She felt exposed without it and even more frightened with the man whiffed it shamelessly before wiping his face and putting it around his own neck.

The only contents of her bag were books. She never carried money. Dissatisfied, he took out the two books and handed one to the man with the blue neckband. She kept her arms close to herself, to increase the distance between the men.

"What use do whores have for books, sir?" The one wearing the scarf asked, pulling a ringlet of her hair. She flinched and refused to make eye contact with any of them.

"To pretend they're not interested. You were readin' this, were you?," He said, taking the book in front of her. She didn't say anything. The man began to tear out the pages from the binding. She winced as he stepped on it to make his point.

"A shy one we got today," The other man said when she turned her face when he touched it in a pseudo- affectionate manner to ridicule her. She raised her arms in front of her, looking away, wishing that she was anywhere but here.

Once the man looked at her, she understood that everything would not be all right. She prayed to God that something would happen. Someone to stop them.

Despite her attempts, he grabbed her arm roughly. It wasn't the same as when she would be in trouble as a child because she knew that the adults would never hurt her. But this, she knew it wouldn't end.

"Get in there," he gestured to the door of the storage house.

She had known their leader from before. She hurt his pride in front of a crowd, and this was his way of taking his revenge. She had run the memory in her mind many times, playing it forwards and backwards until the events became embedded into her mind so much that she would stay awake many night. Their leader was arrested a week later, but for participating in counterfeiting. A voice in her mind told her to tell someone. But who would she tell, and who would take her seriously? She'd heard enough stories reprimanding women for not being dressed properly in front of men, or them putting on allures to attract men. After a month's worth of thinking, she planned out how she'd take her own life. She'd pick a good time so her employers wouldn't suspect anything. She made up a back-up plan as well, to make sure that it would end. The world was a horrible place, and she preferred to live without feeling pain for which she never asked. The pretty words about hope and faith were bullshit, since nothing saved her that day.

The thought process suddenly dissipated at the sound of the continuing commotion at the docks. The sailor had long managed to place the limes from the dropped crate into their respective place. She turned her thoughts back at the memory. Why had she thought of that day? Perhaps because like other days, she would try to dissect her actions, wondering where she went wrong. It was a manner instilled in her by her mother's friend, who had critiqued Evelia on certain behaviors in the presence of guests. That woman evaluated everything, and after the guests would leave, question Evelia on her behavior in front of them, and how the guests would perceive the family. This was the reason that Evelia always longed for the past days full of happy memories instead of the future. The future was uncertain and the past could be accessed through a more comfortable, predictable lens. But not everything of the past was worth remembering, and the future seemed bleak.

Evelia removed a long blade of grass from the ground, feeling its coarse texture between her thumb and index fingers. She was reverting back to her old self once again, scared of her own memories. There was evidence that she didn't progress from them. Rather, under the pretense of being brave, she was still lubricating her predicament with the promise of death. If she wouldn't be alive, then she wouldn't have to deal with her conflicted feelings of what happened to her that night. Maybe she needed some time to think over things again. Maybe, it was a better idea to go back to Boston and figure things from square one.

Evelia held the grass vertically between her thumbs and palm and blew on it, producing a small, yet a shrill, squeaky noise. She used to do this as a child. That deplorable woman would never let her do this, but now, there was no one to stop her. She was about to blow on the leaf again until she saw Connor approaching her. He sat down at a respectable distance from her.

"I know that I have been late in saying this, but I apologize for my behavior. As you had said, it was not reasonable for me to expect something. I merely said it so you would not go closer to the cliff. And I apologize for my inappropriate conduct as well. It was not right.

"I wanted to add that I do not have the right to tell you what to do with your own life. I cannot tell you to just try and see that the world isn't a bad place. However, I know that there are people that care about you, and they would be upset to lose you."

She already knew that Gina would be upset to read the letter that she left inside her flat. Mr. Figore probably would've been upset too, and both of them would also have to undergo the inconvenience of hiring a new helping hand and training them. But they could always find someone- there were plenty of people eager to learn since work was lagging. Aside from that, her family in France hadn't even written to her, so it was obvious that they were not concerned. Besides, she her desire for leaving the world didn't have to do with being satisfied that someone would miss her. It wasn't about those people. It was about her. The world was a terrible place and she just didn't have the desire to live in it. So she didn't answer Connor because how could she explain what she couldn't understand to a stranger? How was she to sum up everything with words that she even stumbled to procure? She decided to find out more about him instead.

"What's your real name?," She asked. "Connor Davenport died in 1755 at the age of seven." She peeled a side of the blade of grass, noticing the transparent fibers. "I saw the gravestones earlier."

Connor turned to face her, but she didn't return the gesture. "My name is Connor too. Connor Davenport was my late mentor's son, and we happen to share the same first name." He said.

Evelia seemed to think about it for a minute but she didn't say much more. He didn't add more information to his story. Looked like he didn't want to speak about himself either. Perhaps it was better that way.

"Connor!," an older man with a graying beard and an olive green coat called. "Sorry to interrupt, but the boys could use a little help here," he said, pointed his thumb towards the sailors that were carrying a large plywood shipping crates.

Connor's mouth seemed to twitch in annoyance, since the sailors could very well manage the crates by themselves. However, Connor knew, Faulkner was inadvertently trying to instill more experience with the ship, even if it was simple labor. He wanted Connor to live, breathe and be the Aquila. He sighed before lifting himself up.

"My real name is Ratonhnhaké:ton," he said. "It can be difficult to pronounce," he added as an afterthought.


	4. Chapter 2: Part 2: The Party

**A/N:** Hello readers! Sorry for the delay! Some unexpected things came up, but now everything's in control. Anywaaay, I admit that this chapter isn't my favorite, but it had to be written. Things will hopefully pick up in the next chapter. Please let me know if something doesn't make sense so I can write it better. It would be awesome if you could leave a review, but it's totally not obligatory!

Last, but not least, a big thank you to those who reviewed! Thank you also for the faves and follows too! Without a further ado, here is part 2:

_Chapter 2, Part2: The Party_

Evelia found Dobby next to the well, talking with a woman that Evelia assumed was a denizen of the Homestead. The brunette woman was leaning on a large hunting rifle as she spoke with Dobby. Instead of greeting the two women, Evelia decided to linger next to the closest tree and wait for their conversation to end. She didn't want to deal with intruding on them, nor did she want another person to know about her. She preferred to stay incognito before she would go back to Boston. To her dismay, the brown-haired woman noticed her and waved. Dobby turned too and motioned for her to come over and join them.

As she approached the two women, she felt at ease seeing the stranger's smiling countenance. It was a different feeling from being introduced to different people in Boston, since not everyone had genuinely friendly demeanor. Evelia immediately smiled politely, a habit from her work.

"Myriam, this is my friend Evelia," Dobby said. Myriam reached out for a handshake and Evelia returned her gesture.

"It's nice to meet you, Evelia," Myriam said. Her voice was warm and clear. "I was telling Dobby about the anniversary party for tonight. My husband and I decided to throw it at the last second. We're inviting everyone in the Homestead, so it'd be great if you could make it too."

She certainly didn't expect this. Although she was flattered by the well-intended invitation, she did not want to attend it. Partying was the last thing that wanted to do, and she wished that she could just return to Boston now to think everything over. Besides, she wasn't familiar with the people of the Homestead. They might ask her questions about herself, and she didn't feel comfortable about answering anything.

"There won't be any need for formal clothes, since we'll just be eating and drinking," Myriam said. Her attempt didn't go unconsidered by Evelia who still felt ambivalent. The younger girl glanced at Dobby, who gave an encouraging nod.

"I will," Evelia said, pushing back the nagging feeling that was telling her to not go there. "Thank you."

"Wonderful," Myriam said. "Well, ladies, sorry to be abrupt, but I have to go invite the others and get back to hunting. Spread the word, eh? Tell Connor to cancel any plans he has tonight! No excuses for him since he didn't go to our Christmas party!"

"Don't worry- I'll make sure he brings his arse this time." Debbie retorted, earning a chuckle from Myriam. After Myriam left, Evelia shook her head.

"I shouldn't go," she said. "I think it's better if I just stay here."

Dobby placed her hand on Evelia's shoulder. "How no? You're our friend, and everyone's mostly family people. I'll stick by you, if that's what you're worried about. And maybe it'll brighten your spirits, if we're lucky."

_Probably not_, Evelia thought. And she wasn't exactly a friend, was she? They just found her yesterday…hardly a way that friends meet. Nevertheless, it was rude to not accept an invitation, and refusing a kind person's insistence a slight tug in her chest. "All right, I'll go with you." Evelia answered, giving what she hoped was an optimistic smile.

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

_What was I thinking_, Evelia thought as she stood awkwardly between the tables with assortments of food placed on it and the fireplace of the tavern. Although most of the night had literally consisted of eating and casual conversations, it picked up its pace after residents began to drink. The air was saturated with a pleasant smell of variants of warm food and congeniality. The atmosphere along with the soft tempo of the fiddle and flute had lulled most of the Homesteaders on the makeshift dance floor. Watching them, she had refused Dobby's offer of the alcoholic beverage in large wooden keg on the table. Evelia herself had neither touched ale nor rum since she'd seen how people would behave under their influences. Life had taught her that she couldn't lose her senses. Not even for a second. Although she was being hypocritical in a sense since she tended to daydream and think too much.

She focused on trying to name the residents that she met beforehand, since they each introduced themselves to a new face. The two large men who were laughing heartily were Terry and Godfrey as they danced with their wives. She remembered the blonde woman as Diane, but she could not place a name on the other wife. The raven haired woman in a pretty green dress was Ellen, who seemed to in a conversation with a man whose name she forgot. The other couple who were dancing at a slower pace was Warren and Prudence.

And last, but not least, she saw Connor return with Myriam and her husband, Norris, from the back. He had appeared much later in the party, and although Dobby commented on his tardiness, she didn't give him a hard time about it. Shortly after, Norris and Myriam had called him in the back. Evelia could see that they were engrossed in a conversation whilst carrying more trays of dessert, which they put on a different table. Surprisingly, Conner was smiling as he continued to talk to them. She couldn't tell what they were saying, but it must've been some type of good news. Norris wrapped his arm around Maryiam and she looked contentedly back at him. Then, Maryiam extended her hand to Connor, who accepted it. Evelia's line of vision was suddenly blocked by Dobby who returned by Evelia's side with a mug of ale.

"What do you think so far? Still wish that you were reading your book in a dark corner?" Dobby asked.

"Yes," Evelia said without skipping a beat.

"Oh, come on! Everyone's having fun." Dobby said, taking a swig of her ale.

"It doesn't look like fun," the younger girl muttered. Along with a sense of fashion, Evelia had dismissed any prospect of dancing. She didn't like it because she didn't like strangers touching her. She'd read about court room dances such as the quadrille, but the rules were too strict for her liking. The parties that she'd attended were full of middle class people, so fancy ballroom dancing wasn't prominent in that setting. She, however, she didn't even want to try it occasionally. Whenever someone asked her, she always refused politely, thank them and tell them that she didn't feel well. No one had pushed, and she was quite content with that.

"That's because you're just watching. I mean, look, even Connor's trying." Dobby motioned towards Connor who was dancing with Maryiam. Evelia's eyes widened slightly in surprise. Connor didn't seem to be the type who openly danced in front of people, but who was she to judge? She didn't really know him. He was probably comfortable doing these were the people in this community, so perhaps he wasn't as formal with them.

"He dances," she said.

"Of course he does! Now you should go up there too." Dobby said, putting down the drink on the table and grabbing Evelia's arm.

"I don't know how to dance." She said her. Dobby, however, insisted on pulling her arm and leading her to the dance floor.

"Practice with me, then," She said. "We'll just make up our own dance. If you want, you can pretend that I'm a tall, handsome man."

"How about no," Evelia replied, although she couldn't tell if her answer was about dancing or having a tall handsome man as a motivation. Probably a 'no' to both, she insisted in her mind. Despite herself, she felt color rising to her cheeks. She was happy that they were close to the fireplace so Dobby wouldn't be able to tell. Perhaps because the atmosphere of drunk people was intoxicating her senses too.

Dobby just continued with her lesson. "Here, this is where your hands are supposed to go," She said as she placed Evelia's left hand on her right shoulder, while grasping Evelia's other hand and placing her free hand on the younger girl's waist. Evelia felt silly since her mind blanked, even though she'd seen so many people stand like this. She knew that she'd just trip both of them.

"Perfect! Now follow my lead," Dobby said, taking a few steps back and Evelia nearly teetered with them. Nevertheless, Dobby's resolve hadn't been quelled by Evelia's unsteady steps. She kept up the attempted sequence. "One. Two. Left. Right. There you go! Here, I'll add a spin."

On the other side of the tavern, the three people were engrossed their own conversation.

"My friend, it was a good idea to throw this party. I'm considering it for the next year as well. Everyone's enjoying this." Norris said.

"I agree. It is nice to have a celebration like this once a year. And now, you also have another reason to celebrate." Connor said to the couple, placing his hands on their shoulders. They smiled back at him, and Maryiam noticed the two figures skittering around the dance floor.

"Connor, look how happy your friend looks," Maryiam said. To Connor's surprise, Evelia was laughing against Dobby's shoulder as she seemed to fall on it clumsily as Dobby attempted to spin them. He smiled from seeing Evelia happy, without the hollow look in her usually distant eyes. She was indeed a different person from the one he found in the morning.

"Yes, and I am glad," He said, thanking Dobby secretly. Despite her seemingly rough behavior, she always knew how to cheer someone up. Tonight was one of those moments in which he was proud to have her as his friends than just a fellow assassin.

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

When Connor, Dobby and Evelia walked back to the manor, the crisp air felt like a definite contrast to the warm tavern. Autumn was indeed approaching. He just listened to their conversations, maintaining silent guard. Evelia seemed to have an easier time opening to Dobby, and Dobby herself seemed to be around at ease with her. He was also relieved to see that Dobby was livelier than he had seen her in a while.

"And next time, Connor should try out the Scottish reel. Isn't that right, Connor?" Dobby looked back at him with a grin.

"Of course I am willing to participate. As long as you are willing to be in the center of the circle," he said, passing her a smug look for a second, earning a 'friendly' punch from the raven haired woman. Connor was also grateful that they were still friends. Although they had spent some months in each other's company, it did not work out. The relationship ended in a mutual dignified and respected way. However, both of them left some things unsaid. Dobby never allowed him to see how hurt she was until after the July fourth celebration. He had his qualms about watching fireworks for a holiday meant for certain people to celebrate, but nevertheless he was glad at the moment to be spending time with his fellow assassins. They were in their usual tavern, celebrating the Independence by being drunk beyond recognition. Dobby was drinking too, and he tried to avert her attention by dancing with her. However, when it was apparent that she was drunk, he'd decided to walk her back to her home before he would get back to the inn.

It was a nice night, even though the stars were blanketed by the smoke of the fireworks. He would've not been surprised if he was inhaling gun powder from the air. They walked in silence until Dobby spoke up. He knew that she could hardly keep herself up, but she wouldn't let him just carry her.

"You know, Connor, you dance very nicely. I had ...so much fun." Connor stepped toward her, holding her form from falling.

"But I dance really nicely too, no?" She said, prying his fingers off her arm.

"Yes, you do," Connor replied softly as she walked a few paces ahead.

"You know, I've been thinking a lot about something after separating," she said, closing her eyes, trying to grasp her thoughts in order to express them. She continued, "Whoever that lucky person who'll catch your fancy…they'll be able to keep you happy."

Connor walked towards her, holding on to her shoulder to keep her from falling. "Probably more than I could." He wanted to tell her that it wasn't true. She was his best friend, and he wouldn't find anyone better. She couldn't be replaced.

Dobby tore her arm from him, walking a little farther, away from Connor's form. She turned around, facing him with glazed blue eyes. "You know, after today, I'll be a happy woman!"

Connor didn't take his eyes off her, his heart seeming to pull in opposite directions.

"But you know what?" She stated more than asked.

"What?" He managed to say, barely audible to both of them.

"It's nothing," Dobby replied walking closer. "But I'll visit you," Dobby said, leaning her head against his chest. "We'll still be friends, right?"

"Of course," Connor said, placing an arm around her shoulder. "Always."

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

The Aquila was indeed ready to go the next morning.

Evelia was staying mostly in the stern of the ship, watching large ripples break through the cerulean waves. She was tired of staying below deck because she didn't like the feeling of not seeing where she was going. Also, the cold dewy smell of the wooden interior as well as the constant sway of the ship made her feel uneasy. Dobby stayed below deck. She was writing something with a lot of thought, since she constantly crossed out her previous work with her ink. Evelia hadn't stayed next to her in fear of disrupting her work. Dobby had already helped her more than it was necessary.

The environment wasn't significantly better outside, but the warm sunlight and the temperate winds balanced out. The songs of the sailors also kept the troubles at bay. The sailors were definitely more adept to the sea, and it was intriguing for her to see how they managed the sails, wipe the decks and pull on the ropes as if they were collectively one being that was the Aquila.

Her gaze finally landed on the captain of the ship. Connor was holding the wheel, occasionally turning it whenever he deemed necessary. She was awed by how a wheel could control the entire ship in something untamable as the ocean. She looked back at Connor, noting how his silver- grey coat with an ashen colored tricorne hat complemented his role as the captain of the ship. His first-mate Mr. Faulkner, the man from yesterday, stood next to him. They both had this air of dignity and experience of the ocean, especially Mr. Faulkner who stood next to Connor. Both of their eyes were focused on the waters ahead of them, occasionally talking about something that she could not decipher from the distance. It probably had to do with their true destination. Evelia had noticed from the day before that the crew was stacking up on limes, which meant that they were going to be at sea for a long period of time. Perhaps a month. She shuddered at the thought of being stuck in a wooden contraption bobbing on top of waters that could tear it apart.

She wondered what exactly Connor's profession was-Dobby seemed to know, but she never mentioned it either. This wasn't a merchant vessel, since it contained artillery. He didn't strike her as a smuggler. He also couldn't have been a pirate of some sort, since he was apparently going to be docking in a civilian area most likely monitored. It was unlikely that Connor was in the navy, since there wasn't an established navy yet, due to the debt that the country was in from the war. It seemed silly to go up and berate Connor with those questions, especially since she hadn't talked to him much. She hadn't even properly acknowledged his apologies from the day before.

She was struck by the fact that she would be returning soon and that she might not be able to see him again. He had been nothing but kind in saving her life, even though she didn't want to be saved. Nevertheless, the gesture was kind, since most people would just turn away from a predicament such as hers. However, he had opened his home for her. Dobby had shared her companionship with her and calling Evelia her friend. Even though it might have been out of trying to make Evelia feel better, the gesture was endearing. When the wind blew past her, she suddenly had the urge to tell Connor how she felt. Perhaps it was the sunlight that was clearing her mind, or manipulating it that made her walk towards him without a second thought.

Luckily, Faulkner was walking deck to assist a new sailor with the ropes around the mast, which allowed Evelia a space next to Connor. She tried to walk across the sip without giving the impression that she had never been on one. Connor already noticed her approaching from his peripheral vision.

"Hello, Evelia," He greeted, turning a bit to acknowledge her presence but not taking his eyes off the waters ahead.

"Hi Connor." Evelia noticed that it was the first time that she addressed Connor directly.

"Are you well?" he asked. "Dobby informed me that you have never fared the sea before."

"I'm fine. It's actually not so bad once you get used to it," she answered, looking at the seemingly endless waves.

"Will you be all right?" It was interesting, the way he spoke. He always seemed to mean everything he said. Maybe it felt that way because English was Connor's second language too. And he seemed to consider his words before he spoke. When he asked, he seemed to ask genuinely, not as conversation filler. It didn't feel demeaning to her, as when older women asked her if she was okay while glazing their true feelings of disinterest with words like 'deary' and 'honey.'

"I think so. I'll get back to my work, my flat and then figure out what to do from there." She paused. _Maybe I'll even go back to France_. She hardly thought about her next words.

"Do you think that I'll be fine?" She felt silly at her last words, since she honestly wanted to know. She had convinced herself that she didn't care about other people's opinions. However, she knew that she valued Dobby's and Connor's opinions now. However, she specifically wanted to know what Connor thought. Dobby had already offered her encouraging words, but Evelia wanted to hear them from someone who had seen her breakdown. He would be more realistic about it. Most people who'd seen that would've suggested the 'madhouse,' which only served the purpose of removing people like her from the rest of functioning society.

Connor turned the wheel in a neutral position before focusing his full attention to her. "I believe that you will be fine," he said. "I am sure of it."

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

"Port of Boston," Faulkner announced, and Evelia's mind began to race. She had returned to her town. She felt overwhelmed from seeing it again, since she never intended to as she left it previously. She had wanted to return to it when she was at the Homestead, and now she felt paralyzed. Although the town view didn't feel familiar to her from the docks, she could see the alleys from here. She knew that after getting off the ship, she would be walking into a familiar routine of traversing the streets of the city. The air, the noise of vendors and the feel of her shoes against the sett pavement would make her question if she ever left the place at all.

But she knew that it was going to be different. She told herself that she had new memories and perhaps new friends. She would still remember the kindness of strangers who helped her without wanting anything in return. They themselves were a mysterious bunch in their own ways, but they were already living their lives before she flung herself in it. It was strange how open she felt when she was with them, and she was going to miss them. Dobby had come out from below deck just to say bye. She told her to take care, moving a stray strand of copper-blonde hair behind the younger girl's ear. Evelia's chest tightened at the possibility of not seeing her again. She hugged Dobby tightly in return and thanked her for everything. She finally turned to Connor.

"Thank you, Connor," She said. I _haven't been very appreciating. And I haven't been the easiest person to get along with. I'm still not happy, but I think it's time that I just go ahead and keep on trying_.

"I was happy to help. I hope that we all can see each other again soon."

She gave a tight-lipped smile to both of them and nodded before walking away. He watched Evelia walk with definite, steady steps across the deck. Suddenly, she stopped as if she remembered something, and she turned around, looking straight at him. She gave a glance at the side of her dress before walking back towards him, reaching inside one of her pockets and fishing something out. As she approached him, he could see that it was his blue and white armband that she'd accidentally torn off in her panic attack the previous day. Evelia stopped at a pace from him, gazing at the band briefly in thought before closing her hand around it. When she looked back up to him, she extended her hand towards him to hand him back what was his. He opened his hand and she placed the blue and white beads in them, now noticing how apparently larger his hands were in comparison to her own. She smiled in that melancholy way when Dobby had been talking to her earlier.

"Farewell," She said, looking at him with her full attention, noticing for the first time how tired he looked and the auric color of his eyes that his hat failed to shade from the sunlight.

"Fare well, _Ra-doon-ha-gay-dun_."

She turned around and left without another glance. She knew that she would have more conflicting thoughts, and she did not want those again. Without turning to look back at the ship, Evelia hoped with as much detachment as she could, that they would see each other again.


	5. Chapter 3: Fort James

**A/N:** Hey guys! Sorry for not updating for a while. College started, and the work's been piling up. Anyway, this chapter will be mainly about Connor outside of America. He actually won't think of anything apart from his mission, so I apologize in advance for those who were looking for some romance…haha. If you squint, you can find foreshadowing of a future meeting! Guess this is where the 'adventure' part comes in? I'm actually looking more forward to writing the next chapter, which will focus more on relationships and junk…Haha.

Thank you again, dear readers, for reading. A special thanks to:

xVentressx, who keeps on reviewing! And yes, the last chapter did have a dramatic farewell. :P

Britt, the first person to review this story :D

Hari-chan15 (who I already PMed back :))

Please feel free to correct my Spanish, grammatical errors and instances of non sequitur logic. Without a farther ado, I present the third chapter.

* * *

Chapter 3: Fort James

* * *

It had been a good ten minutes since Connor had been waiting inside an office at the newly found Bank of New York. He'd met Sam Adams a few days beforehand, who informed him that a friend of his needed his help and it would be the last favor he asked of him. Adams had moved from his position in the Continental Congress into the president of the Massachusetts senate, so Connor could only guess why he would send him for a personal favor for a friend. He was not even sure at this point if these men used these terms genuinely with each other. One man was a Federalist, while the other was claimed to be 'The Anti-Federalist.' The nation was young and each one of these men dreamt their own visions to create the foundation of a perfect republic. And at this point, Connor did not want a part behind the politics, knowing fully well how pretty they dressed their words in order to appease the masses. However, Connor had agreed to this because this 'favor' was related to a cause which he could not escape. He couldn't retire like George Washington to his Bocce greens at Mount Vernon.

"Ah, you must be Connor."

Connor turned to see man attired in a fashionable black coat by the entrance of the office. Despite the man's smaller stature and height, he approached Connor with ease, giving him a firm handshake.

"Alexander Hamilton, a pleasure meeting you. My apologies for keeping you waiting. Those meetings are ill-timed, I'm afraid- they're always going over the time limit." Hamilton said before walking to his finely carved desk. He motioned Connor to take a seat.

"Tea? Coffee?" He asked.

"No, thank you. Samuel Adams instructed me to see you." Connor replied.

"Straight to business then. I have a favor to ask," Hamilton said, and then paused, looking Connor in the eye, who nodded him to go on.

"I request your assistance in freeing our merchants in the West Indies. Particularly in the port of Antigua. There are twenty-five men."

"Who has seized them?" Connor asked, an idea of his task beginning to form.

"The British navy."

"On what charges?"

"For smuggling. For not honoring the Navigation Acts. As you know, the colonies can't trade freely. The British want Congress to make the bail, but that is beyond our monetary means, you see. Congress itself neither has the money, nor a sufficient navy. The Articles of Confederation have given more power to the states, who themselves are in debt. Now if the Federal government..." Hamilton stopped his words when he noticed Connor's suddenly stiff posture and downturned mouth.

"Anyway, these merchants have no money to begin with, so the only way to alleviate this mess is by helping them escape," he finished, looking at Connor directly in the eyes.

"So I will be abetting them in smuggling goods. Against the British Empire."

"Their merchandise was seized, so I only ask you to help them leave the island and back to the states. Although I do not condone Britain's mercantilist policies, I wish to have proper trade agreements with our former mother country in the near future."

"They will know that the States were behind this."

"Of course. But they won't have sufficient evidence. Especially against you. But the point is that a case can be built against the British for illegal seizure. However, we need the men to be free in order to commit to the task."

Connor lifted his chin and regarded the man with a probing gaze.

"With all due respect, Mr. Hamilton, I do not wish to participate in politics. Especially those that do not concern me."

Hamilton looked unfazed, as if expecting this. He was still confident, setting his elbows on the desk and forming a steeple with his fingertips as he spoke the next words.

"There is something in it for you too, Connor."

Connor raised his eyebrows a bit as if to inquire further.

"Sir Robert Eden. He is currently visiting Sir Richard Hughes in Fort James in Antigua."

Connor remained unmoved from his position.

"I am aware."

"Well, that's that, then. A man named Francis Bronwell will meet you at the port of San Juan in Puerto Rico after a month to take the merchants back to America. And I'm sure you'll know how to go on from there. Here is all the documentation, if necessary."

Connor took the envelope wearily, looking over the manila color before looking back at Hamilton who was taking out a parchment with the insignia of the Bank of New York.

"How much will you take, Connor?"

"I am not a mercenary. I do not need the money." His services weren't something to call upon by wealthy politicians. He just needed to eliminate Robert Eden.

Hamilton leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Connor didn't miss the slow smirk on the man's face.

"Nonsense. Times are changing now and everything has a price. I shall arrange for this in gold, since the paper bills are worthless. This shall be delivered to your homestead after your job is done.

"I wish you a good journey, Connor. And I appreciate your help."

Connor warily looked at Hamilton's hand before shaking it. This would indeed be a long journey. Before he left the office, he stopped to ask something.

"How long will the Mercantile System last? The colonies have been fighting against it for a long time," Connor said. After all, it was one of the underlying reasons for the colonies to oppose the British. They were not allowed to trade with other colonies.

"I take it you haven't read 'The Wealth of Nations."

"I do not have the time to read up on economics." Connor answered. He'd heard of Adam Smith, but never devoted serious time to the man's works.

"To put it simply, it will come to an end soon."

* * *

The Aquila had made its way to the Caribbean once again. Or better known as the West Indies, since most of them were British colonies. The Ghost of the North Seas had brought them to the island Antigua. Fort James could be distinguished from the evening fog from the distance.

Connor decided to brief his fellow assassins in the mission again.

"Our first objective is to infiltrate Fort James. It is surrounded by water on all three sides, so the Aquila will have to stay away at a certain distance. We will approach from land, then exit through a blind spot where our smaller boats will be anchored to take us to the Aquila." Connor pointed to an ink-rendered outline of the fort and the surrounding naval ships.

"Why not just climb there and throw the guards off the ledge?" Clipper asked. The rest of the assassins side-eyed him. Why was he asking questions at this point in time?

"I would have done the same in other situations. However, since the prisoners are involved, there is a definite chance that this will be seen as a political attack from the States. If any of the guards are killed, it will cause greater alarm. Our job is to be discrete. That is why we have another objective: we cannot kill any of the guards." Connor responded. He always explained his reasoning before the mission.

"This'll be a real difficult one, Captain." Duncan commented. "There're always one or two guards that have to go."

"I am aware, but I also know that each one of you is very competent. That is why I assign each of you to your own personal objectives. Deborah, Jacob, Stephane, Jamie and Duncan, you will each take five merchants with you back to the Aquila without any casualties. Clipper, you will cover whoever you can and leave after everyone. I will find Robert Eden and I will return to the Aquila last. We must keep this under half an hour. Although we have these objectives, I trust everyone to use their own discretion in this mission. Any questions?"

The six assassins either stayed silent or shook their head.

"We move out now. Take the smaller boats to approach the fort. Then, use any of the entrances, provided you do not attract attention to yourselves." Pretty self-explanatory at this state.

* * *

After setting their boats at the coast of the small island, each assassin immediately split to find their own way inside. Connor used a supplies carriage to enter through one of the four gates of the fort. He hid in one of the bushes afterward. A conversation caught his ears.

"You've heard about Nelson being the new Commander?" A private asked nearby.

"Yeah. Ton of bullocks if you ask me. Man gets sea sick every other day," the other guard answered.

"So that's why he was passed out yesterday in the Boreas?"

"I'd reckon that was the reason. The Admiral's an interesting man. Prolly recruited him 'cause of family connections."

"Speaking of family connections, wasn't the Baronet with him today?"

"Yeah, but now he's with him on the Boreas. Knowing Nelson, he's showin' off his promotion right now," the second redcoat commented with a scoff.

So Eden wasn't here, but aboard the naval vessel. This meant that he'd have to get out of the fort. Connor made his way towards the walls of the fort. When the stationed soldier had his back to him, he climbed on top of one of the walls. He could see the flag of the Boreas. It was only a matter of getting to it. Without another thought, he took the leap of faith into the dark water.

He swam towards the naval vessel's cable and climbed it. He stopped at gunwall of the ship, examining his surrounding for guards. There were plenty, but inconsequential if he didn't have to look for a particular man. He used his Eagle Vision to find out where the man could be. He only saw the ethereal reds of the men, but not his golden target. He must be either below decks or in the captain's quarters. He decided that the captain's quarters would be a better bet since the guards mentioned that Eden was accompanying Commander Nelson.

By the time that he made it to the captain's room, he noticed that he door was partially open. Inspecting the interior, he noticed a man attired in a more elegant red coat was looking over what appeared to be documents on his desk. He had his back to the door and he was alone. Connor moved inside.

The man, upon hearing him, spoke.

"Private, how many times do I have to tell you that you can't enter without knocking first."

"My apologies, sir."

Before the British man could comment on how he's never heard this man on the ship before, his neck felt something cold against it. He stiffened.

"Make one sound, and you are dead." Connor said behind him.

"An assassin, huh? I must say that I was flattered for a second," the British man responded, his eyes scanning the cabin for a potential exit.

"Who are you?" Connor asked. If this man wasn't Robert Eden, then he was wasting time. He was sure that his self-imposed time limit was almost up.

"Horatio Nelson, commander of the HMS Boreas."

Wrong man.

"Well, _commander_, where is Robert Eden?"

"Like I'll tell you, _assassin_."

"I do not have time to play games." The blade around the man's neck came to the point where it could draw blood on the slightest movement of his head. The man, however, still didn't seem to be afraid. Either he wasn't, or he was very good at hiding it.

"He's below deck, but he was supposed to meet me here in a minute. What're you doing? I've told you everything you need to know," the man said when he noted that Connor's was removing a flintlock pistol after pulling back his blade.

Connor struck the commander in the area between the sternum and windpipe with the back of the gun, which had enough force to make the captive keel over. He would be unconscious for a while, and it wouldn't be long if the soldiers would communicate with their superior. Without a moment to spare, Connor moved Nelson's limp body behind his desk. He decided to wait for Eden to come. It was a risk, but he didn't have time to move through the guards without being noticed. He slid behind the door when he heard a set of footsteps approaching the cabin. The steps didn't have the sound of a soldier's march. They were much more authoritative.

An older man with a more regal red coat and powdered wig entered the room. Connor recognized him as the man he was looking for: Robert Eden. He stopped in the middle of the room, in thought. His gloved hand touched the carved silver hilt of his sword.

Connor closed the door behind himself, letting his presence be known.

"Did you really think that it would escape my notice that you were on this ship?" Eden asked, noting Nelson's body, which didn't seem so discretely hidden behind the desk.

"You were expecting me."

"For a while now. Time is expendable for you, it seems. How should we settle this? A duel? No...You utilize the hidden blades, do you not? Blades are more befitting for this occasion." Eden turned around, pointing his sword at Connor. Judging from his stance and wealthy upbringing, this man was probably well versed in the art of swordsmanship.

Connor unsheathed his right hidden blade.

"I must warn you. You will not win," he replied calmly.

"Quite a humble fellow, you are...Mr. Kenway."

Connor barely blocked his chest with his dagger as the Admiral's sword swiped at him, a thin line tearing his coat. The comment had nearly caught him off-guard. Eden also knew about his father?

"How do you know that name?"

The man answered by pushing his blade with greater force into the assassin's in an attempt to break his defense. "Oh, hard to forget such a man."

Connor overpowered the weight against him by kicking him in the stomach, forcing Eden back. Connor lashed at him with his dagger, and the sharp sound of his blade reached his ears as he was pushed back from the Baronet's strength. When Eden swung his sword at him, Connor blocked it with his dagger and the opening left by the man didn't escape his notice. In one swift moment, Connor's hidden blade tore into the Admiral's chest. The man didn't move for a few seconds before the gravity of the situation reached him. He had lost.

Eden's' sword fell from his hand, and a sanguine hue began to eat through his red coat. Connor retreated his blade, causing the Baronet to fall backwards.

"It won't end here. Not for the Templars, in the least." Connor said nothing as he watched the man struggle to enunciate his words despite the blood spilling from his mouth.

"You're a fool, just like Haytham."

"You should save your breath for prayers for the afterlife," Connor said, adjusting his bracer.

"I guess I'll meet you both there. If there is one," Eden replied before his expression went slack. Connor bent down to close the Baronet's eyes. ("May you find peace.")

He left the room from the window, closing it after him before spotting the Aquila from a distance. The swim wouldn't be too bad.

* * *

As he climbed aboard the gunwall of the Aquila, he was helped by his First Mate to the main deck

"Welcome aboard, captain. On time as usual," Faulkner said, giving Connor a pat on the back.

"You waited longer than necessary." Connor replied, walking along with Faulkner across the main deck.

"You think she'd leave without her captain? Anyway, the crew's waiting for ya. Twenty-six merchants below deck now."

Connor stopped in this tracks.

"No, there should be twenty-five of them."

"No, captain. Counted twenty-six of them myself. Wait, so there's a stowaway?"

"Possibly," Connor replied. Please keep an eye here, Mister Faulkner. I am going below deck."

"Aye-aye, captain. Be careful," Connor heard Faulkner say before heading down.

Commotion greeted Connor when he went below. He expected the merchants to be silent, but they were chatting lively with each other, excited to be free.

"Connor, there you are," Deborah waved. "These guys can't wait to return. How'd it go for you?"

"It was fine. There is something else. Mister Faulkner said that there were twenty-six merchants aboard," he said.

She shook her head.

"No, I'm pretty sure that there're twenty-five, like in the mission briefing. Each of us was to take five of them."

By that time, Jamie spotted him and walked towards the two.

"Connor, you made it back."

"Jamie, how many merchants did you take with you?" Dobby asked. Connor was staring at him too.

"Five, like the plan. I saw Jacob take five too." He raised his hands defensively. "What's going on?"

Connor looked towards the passengers and mentally counted each of them. The count was up to twenty-five.

"Nothing. I thought that something was amiss for a second." Connor said, rubbing his brow and scanning the crowd again. He saw Clipper passing out some blankets to the merchants. "Where are Jacob and Duncan?" They were probably on the main deck.

"I saw them-"

Jamie's words stopped when the sound of a pistol firing pierced the otherwise excited atmosphere. Everyone fell into silence.

Without a word, Connor ran upstairs only to be confronted by Stephane, who ran a hand through his uncovered hair before looking at Connor uneasily.

"Uh...mon ami, we've got une situation."

"What happened?" He quickly asked, looking around for the source of the tumult. Stephane didn't need to answer, since Connor saw it himself at the quarterdeck.

"I'll say it again: drop your weapons, or he will see his god."

A man dressed in a long green coat and a white collar had Duncan in a headlock, with a pistol pointing to his head. Blood was already apparent around Duncan's midsection, spilling from his dark coat and pooling around the wooden deck. Faulkner was planked on floor, next to the wheel. Jacob was clutching his leg, his gloved hands making an unsuccessful effort to stop the bleeding. Whoever the man was, he desperately wanted to escape.

"He already shot Duncan once as a warning." Stephane said in a quiet voice.

"Everyone, drop your weapons!" Connor yelled. The man in green watched him. True to his words, Connor dropped his flintlock pistols, his sword and unbuckled his cross belt, removing the bow in the process too. The crew followed.

"Your hidden blade too, heathen."

Without breaking eye contact, Connor removed his bracer, throwing it on the ground. He still had his other blade, but the strange man didn't seem to know about it. It still wasn't safe to assume that the man would let Duncan go, but risking the lives of the brotherhood wasn't worth it.

Satisfied, the man shoved his hostage to the ground before hopping on the reeling and jumping into the water. Connor would have seen where the man went, but since he jumped into the ocean in the middle of the night, the better cause would be to help his fellow assassin.

He ran up to Duncan, who had become dangerously limp. He turned the man around gently as he could. Blood was pouring from a hole in the side of his abdomen. Connor removed his coat and wrapped it tightly around the wound hopes to stop the bleeding. Jamie had run up behind him to assess the damage. Some of the sailors brought in cots.

Stephane tended to Jacob while Dobby went to Faulkner. To her relief, Faulkner was breathing evenly.

"Take them to the captain's quarters," Connor ordered.

"Everyone, back to their positions. Full sail! Set course for San Juan!" Even if the ship reached fifty knots, it would get to the island soon.

Inside the cabin, Duncan's complexion had paled considerably and his breathing was shallow.

"He's going into shock. Elevate his legs, Jamie said.

Dobby complied, putting a bundle of rolled blankets under Duncan's legs. She'd seen the red, angry wound and that didn't faze her as much as the prospect of losing the ex-priest. After what seemed like an eternity of applying pressure and clean bandages, the bleeding seemed to recede.

By that time, Faulkner had regained consciousness.

"What the hell happened?" The man asked, sitting up. He groaned as he clutched his head.

"You tell me," Deborah said in a quiet voice to not disturb Duncan.

"Right. Now I remember. Duncan and Jacob were running after this priest. I tried to grab 'im, but he hit my head."

"He took some papers from the inventory. When Duncan asked him, he ran. We ran after him and asked him to stop. His walking stick was concealing a blade and he stabbed my leg. When the crew came after him, he took my gun and shot Duncan without a warning." Jacob added somberly on the other side of the room.

"Poor lad," Faulkner said, giving the man an empathetic look. _And to think that I was worried if the extra men would eat all our food_, he thought.

"I'll make sure that we reach San Juan as fast as we can." he said before exiting the room.

* * *

It was already sunrise when they reached the Spanish port of San Juan. Sure enough, a vessel with the States flag was present. Captain Bronwell greeted them and relieved the Aquila of the citizens. The merchants seemed much happier to be in the custody of their home country. Connor would have felt elated if he didn't remember the price. Hopefully Hamilton would keep his word about helping them receive their ships back from the British. The surgeon from the States had recommended to keep Duncan on the island because his chance of survival would be better there than on a vessel for a month.

Thus, the Aquila and its crew had to stay on the island. When the officials had seen that the Aquila had no intention of trade, they allowed the vessel to anchor at the harbor.

Duncan and Jacob were admitted to a room in the hospital. Even after a week, Connor didn't feel better about the situation. Although Jacob had claimed to be able to walk with his leg, Connor knew that it would be hard for him to walk completely by himself. He watched over the ex-priest as much as he could until Dobby forced him outside for fresh air. There wasn't too much to do in the island, since he didn't plan on staying.

* * *

He mainly walked around, observing the marketplace, the streets and the weather. Although it was more temperate than in the Northeastern part of America, it suffocated him a bit. The winds was warm, and although the sun felt initially warm on his skin, it was beginning to sting his skin in the same way as sitting in front of a fireplace for too long. If it wasn't for his tricorne hat, he would've been more aggravated than he felt.

He began to make his way towards a bench when a running child caught his eye. The child's clothing was ragged and his skin was covered in days worth of grime. He ran past Connor, with his tiny hands holding what appeared to be a large green oval fruit. A man was yelling behind the kid, calling him a name in Spanish that Connor failed to grasp.

This sight wasn't an unusual occurrence. He'd seen this in the colonies plenty of times. There were times where he would distract some merchants to buy enough time for the street children to take something to eat. Perhaps one more time here wouldn't hurt.

He walked in the opposite direction of the apron-clad man who was chasing the kid. Connor tripped him and quickly walked away before the man could notice. He spotted a bench in the shade of a larger building, and sat at one corner of it. He looked back at his work. The man he tripped had indeed failed to notice who did that to him. He seemed to curse something at no one in particular before walking back to his stall on the other side of the street.

Connor smiled to himself and settled on watching the seagulls peck at the crumbs on the cobbled streets.

A man sat next to him. Connor could see from the corner of his eye that the man appeared to be in his middle ages. His complexion was darker than the colonists in America, but then again, the populace of the Spanish colony was a bit darker than the average European. The man's brown robes also indicated that he was a Catholic monk. Connor was grateful that his own clothes were lighter in color as opposed to more pious people.

"Hola, Señor. Enjoying the view of the beautiful shore?" He man asked.

"You could say that," Connor answered, not up for conversation at the moment.

"Ah, si. It is particularly beautiful before el tifón."

"Hm."

"Everyone loves this island. First, it was Juan Ponce de León, then Francis Drake. After that, Captain Balduino Enrico - they've all tried to take it over. Of course it was the Taíno who suffered most through this. When too many of them died from slave labor and disease, African slaves were bought to replace them. And now, only a little of the native people remain."

"Why are you telling me this?" Connor asked, with a hint of annoyance in his voice. At this point, he was certain that this man wanted something from him. Was he a Templar?

"Because I saw what you did there, and I commend it." The monk answered simply.

"Is that the reason you were following me for the past five minutes," Connor asked, facing him. "This was before I did that."

The robed man chuckled.

"Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Fray Íñigo Abbad y Lasierra, but you may call me Abbad."

"And who exactly are you?" Connor asked while looking at a seagull pecking at a pebble. It probably mistook it for food.

"I am a monk, historian, and the personal secretary of the bishop of the diocese of Puerto Rico, Manuel Jiménez Pérez. I am currently residing in that inn over there. Any other information you wish to know?"

"No."

"I need your help. A man here is making a slave convoy from here to Puerto Rico. I want to stop it, but there's not much time. See that store? A man I was following went in there." He looked towards the store on the right. "I need to see what he's doing.

"You look so dejected about this, amigo. But you'll help out a lot of Taíno along the way. Maybe for not all of them. But even if it makes a difference even in one of their lives, it'll be worth it."

Connor gave a small shrug before shaking his head and standing up. Why was he doing this? Sure, he believed that it would help some of the natives. But for how long? Nevertheless, the small, nagging feeling in his chest wouldn't abate after the inception of freedom for a few than none.

It turned out that the store was actually a small bookstore. Connor pretended to be interested in a section of books, although most of his focus was on watching the man talk with the owner in a low voice. He couldn't understand too much of Spanish. He could read titles and understand, but the fluency of the language was not too easy to grasp.

He moved to another bookshelf while Abbad engrossed himself in a different section. Connor could see the men exchanging a paper. The owner of the store seemed to notice Connor's glance since when he was done with the man, he asked if he could help him. The man they were tailing had exited by then.

"Si, señor. Mi amigo y yo quería comprar algunos libros." Abbad answered, taking out a large volume from the shelf.

"¿Cuáles?"

"_Les Mille et une nuits, contes arabes traduits en français." _

"Opción interesante.." The owner muttered as the monk placed the large book on the counter.

"There's your chance," Abbad whispered when the store owner was writing the book's name on a paper.

Connor nodded and exited out. He used his Eagle Vision and spotted the golden target walking in another alley on the left side of the store. Connor quickly started heading in an alley that was parallel to the man's. Just as planned, Connor took out a pocket watch, looking at it as if he was invested in time. He bumped into the man.

"Perdón," he said, backing up a bit.

The man frowned and shoved Connor away from him, muttering **"**Patoso" as he walked away. Connor watched him before seeing Abbad approach him with the book.

"What does 'patoso' mean?" Connor asked.

"It means 'clumsy oaf, amigo." Abbas answered with a slight grin. "And that is what you looked like there."

"Good," Connor replied. He handed Abbas a folded paper. Sometimes, it was too easy to fool people based on looks.

Abbas' eyes widened for a second before opening the paper. After reading it and rereading it, he shook his head.

"Amigo, this tells exactly where the convoy's going to meet today. You have a natural talent."

"You can take it from there," Connor said. "I would help more, but I am needed elsewhere."

"No es un problema. Oh, and here's the book," he said, handing Connor the large book.

"How much was it?" Connor asked. It must've been expensive, judging by the golden embellishments of the rich, leather bound cover.

"Not a concern. Keep it- the least I could do. It's in French though," Abbad said, looking in thought. Connor wanted to refuse, since he wouldn't have time to read. Especially French. However, it would've been rude to reject a gift.

"Thank you. But there is a favor that I must ask of you." Connor said.

"Anything."

"I met a preacher near one of the islands here. He had a Spanish accent, from what I know. He was in dressed in green robes and he claimed to be from the colony in Florida. He also seemed well-trained in battle."

Abbad seemed to be in thought.

"I've heard of this man before. I am not sure, but from your description, it sounds like Federico Perez. I only know this name because I've heard it from the bishop. Apparently, he was sent to Florida for his violent behavior against members who didn't share his belief."

"Thank you, Abbad."

"It was my pleasure, uh... " Connor remembered that he hadn't shared his name. Perhaps he could now.

"Connor." He said.

"Connor. Take care in your passage back, amigo. The calm's been telling me that there will be a tifón soon. Well, that, and because I've been living here for the past three years. If you ever need anything in these islands, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

* * *

When Connor came back, things seemed to be getting better. Duncan had woken up, and he requested to see Connor. When Connor visited him in the hospital cot, he could see that the man was still in pain.

"How are you feeling, Duncan?" He asked, pulling up a chair next to the cot.

"I'm all right. Been better."

"You will recover. The doctor said that you were lucky that the .55 caliber missed your vital organs."

"Right. There's something I needed to tell you."

Connor didn't fail to notice the hesitance in the man's features.

"Go on," He said.

"I took the extra man on the ship. I was the one who put everyone in danger." When Connor didn't respond, he continued.

"He was in a separate prison cell back at the fort. He thought me as a priest and told me that he was a preacher from Florida.

"I was an idiot. I opened his cell and told him that he could come back with us if he wanted to return to America. I don't know, but at that time, I thought that it was better to help him escape. I wish I'd known. When I caught him ripping a page in our inventory, I asked him what he was doing. He ran away, and so I followed him. I'm sorry, Connor. I know that it's not enough for endangering the brotherhood, but I truly am."

"Everything is always much clearer in retrospect. You thought what you were doing was right, and you believed in it. That alone means more than a mistake." Connor said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Just focus on getting better. You should rest now."

Duncan nodded after a thought, but fell asleep when he leaned back in his pillows. He was still very weak.

They would have to move out the next morning. Duncan would have a hard time, along with Jacob, but Connor knew that they would make it. However, a bigger problem began overshadowing him. Why did Perez rip the page from the book that recorded the supply inventory? There was one reason that was standing out above everything: Perez was a Templar. Where did he go, and to whom? What were the consequences?

With these thoughts in mind, Connor set a course to Boston to meet back with Sam Adams. He knew that things were going to become more complicated from this point.


End file.
